Suffer the Little Children (The Chronicles of Christoval Alvarez Book 5) Read online

  As usual I went round to the stableyard at Walsingham’s house, where the back stairs led up to the rooms used for the intelligence service. It also gave me the opportunity to visit my favourite horse in the stables, the piebald Hector, who hid his qualities of intelligence and speed under a somewhat ugly exterior. That is, many people thought him ugly, but I knew and loved every patch of grey and black, even the black patch around one eye that gave him something of the appearance of an equine pirate. Beneath his deceptive colouring were his powerful haunches, his beautiful lines, and his elegant head. Nothing could conceal the clever gleam of his bright eyes.

  I had brought two of my new season’s apples which he ate with relish, though he always politely accepted the withered offerings at the end of the apple season. Giving him a final pat I nodded to the stable lad Harry, then bounded up the stairs with Rikki at my heels, feeling suddenly invigorated after those awful scenes in the men’s wards.

  Phelippes looked up as I entered the office, peering at me for a moment with a distracted air as if he had no idea who I was. I knew that look. It meant he was absorbed in cracking a new code and was turning over combinations and permutations in his mind, quite oblivious to his surroundings.

  ‘Ah, Kit,’ he said, coming back from wherever he was inside his head.

  ‘You needed me?’ I reminded him.

  ‘Nay, there is not a great deal to do at the moment, though I should be glad if you were to look over this with me afterwards.’

  ‘Afterwards?’

  ‘It is Sir Francis who wishes to see you.’

  ‘He’s here?’ I perched on the edge of the table I used as a desk. I lowered my voice. ‘How is he?’

  Phelippes shook his head and a look of distress came into his eyes. ‘Not good.’

  It hung in the air between us, though neither of us voiced it. He is dying, and what will become of us, and all of this, when that happens?

  ‘Do you know why he wishes to see me?’

  ‘Something about the College of Physicians, I believe.’

  I felt a sudden stirring of panic. Had the fellows of that distinguished institution decided that I was not fit to practice? I had no proper training in their eyes, not having attended either Oxford or Cambridge, not even a foreign university like Portugal’s Coimbra, where my father and Dr Nuñez and Sara’s husband Dr Lopez had studied. I could have told them that Coimbra was far in advance of the English universities in medicine, with its application of Arabic medicine, but of course I would not dare, even if I had the opportunity.

  Instead I had learned my medicine with my father, both the theoretical knowledge with the use of his medical textbooks and his instruction – he had been a professor at Coimbra – and the practical experience, working as his hospital assistant from the age of fourteen. All of that probably counted for nothing in the eyes of the College and its fellows. They could, if they wished, have me dismissed from my post at St Thomas’s. If I lost my position and my work for Sir Francis ended with his death, how should I live?

  I looked at Phelippes in dismay. ‘What does the College want with me?’

  ‘Best go and see. Leave Rikki with me.’

  Rikki, who was familiar with this room, had already made himself comfortable in front of the fire. I slipped down from my perch, brushed down my gown and straightened my cap. I hoped that it would only be Sir Francis waiting for me in his office.

  In answer to my tentative tap, Walsingham called ‘Enter’, and I found he was not alone. Drawing up a second chair to the fire was Dr Hector Nuñez, who had clearly arrived just ahead of me.

  ‘Come in, come in, Kit.’ Sir Francis smiled at me. ‘Hector, will you pour us all some wine?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Dr Nuñez patted my shoulder as he passed me on the way to the court cupboard where Sir Francis kept his glasses and wine. I realised it was the first time I had known Sir Francis to ask someone else to serve wine in his office. Perhaps he did not trust the steadiness of his hands. Was the wine intended to console me for bad news?

  I took the glass proffered to me and looked from one to the other of them. Dr Nuñez acted as one of Walsingham’s channels of foreign intelligence via his trading network, but we did not often see him here in Seething Lane. What could be afoot?

  ‘Do not look so worried, Kit.’ Walsingham took a sip of his wine. I noticed that his hand was trembling. ‘Dr Nuñez and I have been discussing your future.’

  My heart sank. Now that my father was gone, these two men had in some sense assumed responsibility for me.

  Walsingham smiled. ‘You need not look as if we are about to scold you, Kit. You have done so well in your work as a physician, despite my demands on your time, that we think you should take the next step.’

  I looked at them in confusion, but before I could speak, Sir Francis raised his hand to stop me. ‘We think you are ready to take the examination at the College to obtain a licence to practice as a full physician.’

  Chapter Three

  I looked at Sir Francis in astonishment. This was the last thing I had expected. I took a sip of my wine in order to give myself time to think. How could I be a licensed physician without a university degree? I turned a puzzled face to him.

  ‘I am afraid I don’t understand. What examination? I have no university degree in medicine.’

  ‘Nay, you have not.’ He smiled. ‘But it is well recognised in both hospitals where you have worked that you are a skilled physician. You will remember that at one time the governors of St Bartholomew’s offered to send you to Oxford, but you were unable to take up their offer.’

  I nodded. I had pretended it was a family problem, but in truth I had known that I could not have shared my tutor’s lodging in close company with other students without them discovering that I was a girl.

  ‘It is still possible for a candidate to become a licensed physician by passing the College examination,’ he said. ‘Of course, such candidates are normally graduates in medicine from a university either here in England or abroad, but I understand from Dr Nuñez that you have read widely, not only in the standard texts studied here, but also in Arabic texts.’

  Dr Nuñez shifted uncomfortably. ‘Best not to mention that in the College. They are very conservative in their views. Arabic medicine is not regarded with favour there. Stick to Galen and his followers.’

  ‘But,’ I said, for they were getting ahead of me, ‘what sort of examination?’

  ‘It would be an oral examination,’ Walsingham said, ‘like the examinations at Oxford and Cambridge, so I suppose you will have little experience of that.’

  Having been taught by my father from an early age, I was well accustomed to being tested regularly on my studies, but it is one thing to be tested by a loving father, quite another to face an examination by a group of strangers who have no particular wish to see you succeed.

  ‘Can you tell me anything more?’ I asked nervously.

  ‘Let Dr Nuñez explain,’ he said, ‘for he will know far more than I, having been a censor himself.’

  ‘Censor?’ I said.

  ‘It is what the College calls the examiners,’ Dr Nuñez said. ‘The censors are Fellows of the College, elected on an annual basis. I am not one at present, but I can guide you through the entire process. The examination is conducted by the President and four censors, in Latin, which I know will not give you any trouble.’

  I nodded. My father had taught me Latin from the age of four. For any scholar, not just physicians, it is an international language, allowing communication throughout the known world.

  ‘The subjects of the examination?’

  ‘It falls into three parts: first part, anatomy and physiology; second part, pathology and disease; third part, therapeutics. You will be given certain texts to study in detail, then recalled and tested on your knowledge of the contents. It is the third part where you will need to be careful – no whisper of anything so outlandish as Arabic medicine.’

  ‘There is no practical examination?’ I was confused. ‘No testing of how a candidate examines, diagnoses, and treats patients?’

  Dr Nuñez laughed. ‘Nay, Kit, nothing so practical and mundane as that! This is a body of men who pride themselves on carrying forward the ancient body of medical knowledge. It is the texts which matter.’

  I was beginning to feel a stirring of excitement. I could do this, I knew I could do this. I am blessed with a powerful memory by nature, and it had been strengthened by my father’s training. Also, I had read all these texts, though I had also supplemented my reading with the despised books of Arabic medicine and with practical experience.

  ‘I no longer own any medical texts,’ I said mournfully. ‘When my father’s creditors seized our possessions, they took all our books and I have not been able to afford to purchase replacements.’

  ‘I can lend you everything you need,’ Dr Nuñez said. ‘Come to see me tomorrow and we will find what you had best borrow. I can also help you practice for the examination by posing the kind of questions they will ask.’

  ‘Also,’ said Sir Francis, ‘I will write a letter to the President supporting your candidacy, with evidence of your work in the hospitals and as a physician with the army on the Portuguese expedition. I expect the St Bartholomew’s governors will be willing to support you as well.’

  Despite myself, I could not stop tears filling my eyes. With a licence I would be recognised as a full physician, with no questions about my competence.

  ‘You are both so kind.’ I could hardly get the words out.

  Dr Nuñez reached over and patted my hand.

  ‘Since your father died, we know you have been without the support of a family. Sir Francis and I have both watched how hard and how well you have worked these last few years
. We are both old men. We want to help you before it is too late.’

  I looked down at my hands. Sir Francis was many years younger than Dr Nuñez, but it was he who would go first. I felt the soft plop of a tear on my wrist. I was glad it was growing dark in the room, that they might not see.

  ‘And of course,’ Dr Nuñez said cheerfully, ‘I am being entirely selfish. Once you are licensed, I will be able to pass over to you most of my private patients, and live the life of a gentleman of leisure.’

  ‘Oh please!’ I said in panic. ‘Not Lord Burghley!’

  They both laughed.

  So it was decided. Sir Francis would write to the College and encourage the governors of St Bartholomew’s to do the same. I would go to Dr Nuñez’s house in nearby Mark Lane the next day to collect the text books and thereafter he would test me once a week until I was summoned for the examination. I walked back along the corridor to Phelippes’s office in a daze.

  ‘Well?’ he said, as I sank down on my chair. ‘It was not a telling off, was it?’

  He was trying to hide a smile.

  ‘You knew! They want me to take the examination to be licensed to practice by the College of Physicians.’

  ‘You will have no trouble with that. Think of some of the missions you have undertaken for Sir Francis.’

  I laughed. ‘Of course, you are right. This is not nearly so alarming. At least, I do not think it will be.’ The thought of those five men, solemn in their robes, was nevertheless worrying, but I pushed away the thought.

  Before I left, I looked at the new code Phelippes had been puzzling over. He had nearly finished it, but I saw a way round one of the difficulties. Donning my cloak and whistling to Rikki, I ran down the stairs and out into the darkening streets in a strange mood, part exhilaration, part apprehension.

  Back at my lodgings I saw from the street that there was a light in Simon’s room. I was not sure whether I should take that as a good sign or a bad one. If he and Kyd had secured Marlowe’s release on bail, they would surely be celebrating at an inn. On the other hand, if he was still chasing Burbage or anyone else for the bail money, he would not be back here.

  I thumped on his door and went in when he called, Rikki running ahead of me to lick Simon’s hand where it dangled off the edge of his bed. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. He did not look worried, merely tired.

  ‘Well?’ I said, seizing a stool and sitting down.

  ‘I fell asleep. Did not get much sleep last night, then you woke me before the birds were up.’

  ‘You asked me.’

  ‘I know. Then we had to play that fool comedy again this afternoon. I’m no comic actor, I do not understand how Guy can take pleasure in it. So I fell asleep when I got home.’

  ‘You know that what I am asking about is Marlowe.’

  He grinned. ‘I thought you did not like him.’

  ‘I do not. However, I do not wish him ill.’ I left it to Simon to take my meaning.

  ‘Burbage said he might put up the bail money, though he was reluctant and grumbled a great deal.’

  ‘I am not surprised. So he’s out of Newgate then, Marlowe?’

  ‘Not yet. In the end, Kyd suggested going to the Alleyns, who arranged for the forty pounds bail to be paid. It has to go before a magistrate or a minor court or some such thing. Watson, who struck the blow that killed Bradley, remains in Newgate. Marlowe will be released in a few days, on the first of October.’

  ‘Then he must be very grateful to you.’

  ‘I hope so. I have not seen him. Kyd visited him in Newgate this afternoon to bring him the news, while we were playing the comedy.’

  ‘When does he go on trial?’

  ‘Not till December.’

  ‘Then you have saved him many weeks in prison.’

  ‘Aye’

  I could not think why he looked downcast, but the solution with Simon was often to feed him.

  ‘Come,’ I said, ‘let us take some supper at the Lion. I also have some news to tell you.’

  We settled happily over our trenchers of the Lion’s best offering, beef with onions – plenty of onions, the way I liked it. Unlike many inns, the Lion baked its own bread. Simon seized a whole basket from a passing pot boy and began to tear off lumps to dip in the gravy. I sipped my ale and watched him. My news could wait.

  When Simon had devoured his beef and onions and was wiping up the last fragments with more of the bread, I was glad to see that he no longer looked so tired and gloomy.

  ‘So,’ I said, ‘I can see that you have not eaten all day.’

  He grinned at me, and drank half his tankard of ale in one long draught.

  ‘We had no time for a meal before the performance, what with chasing up Burbage, then back to Bankside in search of Edward Alleyn or his brother John, then hurrying to Newgate. Turned out, we had to take the surety for the money all the way to the court at Westminster. When we arrived, there was such a crowd everywhere – petitioners, lawyers, court officials – I knew I could not wait, so I left Kyd to make the arrangements and caught a wherry back to Old Swan Stairs. Ran all the way to the Theatre and just reached it in time.’

  ‘So how did you know that he is to be released on the first of October?’

  ‘Kyd sent a lad with a note, saying what the conditions were and that he was on his way to tell Marlowe. When Marlowe is released, Kyd will take him to his own lodgings so he can keep an eye on him. They’ve shared before.’

  I did not envy Kyd the task, but I kept my tongue behind my teeth.

  ‘It all seems to have gone well,’ I said, ‘so why do you look as though you have lost sixpence and found a penny?’

  He gave me a rueful grin and waved to the pot boy to bring more ale. ‘Just tired and hungry, I suppose.’

  ‘It is more than that.’ I knew Simon as well as a brother. Something else was troubling him.

  He shrugged, and waited until the pot boy had deposited two fresh tankards of ale and cleared away the debris from our meal.

  ‘Burbage wants me to go on playing the comic roles, and I hate them! I was supposed to be following Christopher in the romantic leads, but he gets them all, and I am always a “friend”, or a “confidential servant”, or some such. And then there’s Richard as well. His father is bound to favour him.’

  This was a little unfair, though I did not say so. Richard Burbage, a few years older than we were, was growing into an exceptional actor. But his father showed no family favouritism. His concern always was for the best performance of the play, whatever it might be. In that he could be ruthless. Though I felt he had somewhat misjudged Simon, if he thought him suited to comic roles. Perhaps he was merely trying to develop his talents, all of them, but it might not be wise to point this out, with Simon in his present mood.

  ‘I thought Richard inclined more toward tragic roles,’ I said.

  ‘He does, but there are not so many in our book of play scripts. What your London citizen wants is damnable fool comedy – some horseplay, some dirty jokes, a good belly-laugh, and he is happy.’

  He kicked the leg of the table in frustration, narrowly missing my shin.

  ‘Well, if Marlowe writes some more of his unpleasant pieces, then there should be plenty of gloomy roles for Richard.’

  ‘Aye, but will Burbage buy them and stage them? He has to give the audiences what they want.’

  He bowed his face over his ale. Then, because he was Simon who could not be gloomy for long, and because he really did care about me and my life, so different from his own, he said, ‘What is this news you have to tell me?’

  So I explained the proposal of Walsingham and Dr Nuñez that I should take the examination to become a licensed physician. At once his face lit up.

  ‘But that is wonderful news, Kit! You will be able to have your own private patients amongst the rich. No more scraping to stretch every penny.’

  ‘Dr Nuñez says he will pass some of his patients to me.’

  He gave a low whistle and raised his tankard to toast me.

  ‘Too soon to celebrate,’ I said, ‘I must pass the examination first, and these censors will not be eager to license a Stranger who does not even have a degree from a foreign university.’